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Columbia's Victor Shertzinger writes songs (his bestseller: Marcheta) and directs Grace Moore's pictures. He began his musical career as a boy violinist, toured with Nordica, Sembrich, Calve. As a director he made 21 of the old Charles Ray comedies. But composing was more to his liking. He does most of his work on his pipe organ at home, tries his tunes out on his daughter Paula, II.
Ralph Rainger (Paramount) is one of the few popular songwriters who has had thorough classical training. He studied at Manhattan's Institute of Musical Art. To earn a living, he took a job as a pianist in the First Little Show (1929), wrote Moanin' Low for Libby Holman. For Paramount Rainger and his lyricist Leo Robin wrote June in January, Love in Bloom and the songs Gladys Swarthout sang in Rose of the Rancho. When Paramount wants swing music, Mack Gordon and Harry Revel are set to work. Clowning at parties pleases them more. With little urging Gordon will hoist his 317 Ib. up onto a piano, coyly croon I Feel Like a Feather in the Breeze, the hit from Collegiate, for which Gordon and Revel wrote the score.
Twentieth Century-Fox boasts that its Lew Pollack (Charmaine, Two Cigarets in the Dark) can produce a song on any subject if he is given an hour's notice. But Warners' boast is bigger. Musical cinemas seemed doomed until Harry Warren and Al Dubin turned out the tunes for Forty-Second Street, went on to do Footlight Parade, Gold Diggers of 1933, Wonder Bar, Twenty Million Sweethearts. Fortnight ago their Lullaby of Broadway (Gold Diggers of 1935) was voted the best song of the year by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (TIME, March 16).
A cinema dealing with songwriters might well take Warren & Dubin for two type characters. Composer Warren is nearsighted and thin, suffers from nervous indigestion, a relic of the days of silent pictures when he played the piano in the old Vitagraph studios, attempted to provide an atmosphere that would inspire the actors.
Dubin is heavy, careless, good-natured, writes a lyric on any old scrap of paper. He cheerfully recalls the days when he peddled his verses for $10 to $15 apiece, finally gained recognition with Just a Girl That Men Forget (1923). Hollywood salaries have tempted many of its songwriters to become "country gentlemen," raise blooded roosters, olive trees, avocados. Dubin recently bought an elaborate estate in San Fernando Valley where he still chews tobacco, sucks his corncob pipe.